


to cease these ravishing songs

by crateofkate



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25204546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crateofkate/pseuds/crateofkate
Summary: From the corner of his eye he saw the glint of an arrow being notched into a bow, and then the entire world slowed to a crawl as he saw the rider shift his aim from the princess at his side, to the sorceress's back.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 137
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #004





	to cease these ravishing songs

Faster. 

_Faster._

Outrunning an army isn’t an easy feat, but somehow, Jaskier is managing it. Ciri’s hand is clenched tightly within his own, and their feet are gliding up and over the earth like they’ve sprouted wings. He can hear Geralt and Yennefer behind him, the clash of sword and chaos against the hordes of Nilfgaard barely drowning out the thunder of his own heartbeat. 

His own life is circumvent. Keeping the Last Lion of Cintra safe is the priority. He needs to run _faster_. 

Ciri’s feet fail her a minute later when they fail to leap over a log, causing them both to trip into the mud. Jaskier catches himself before he lands face down in the muck, but Ciri isn’t so lucky. Tears stream down her face, leaving trails in the grime on her cheeks. He wants to comfort her but they don’t have time. 

An explosion sounds from behind them, and Jaskier pulls Ciri under him, shielding her body with his own. He looks up and spots Yennefer a few yards away, hands thrown in the air as a purple shield pulses around her and up into the trees. A round of arrows is stopped by the force of the magic, and Jaskier nods his thanks before helping the princess back to her feet and pulling her along. 

With any army behind them, however, this plan wasn’t sustainable. Jaskier could run and run, until his heart and lungs burst from the strain, but there was no way the four of them would survive this continued assault. 

The army had come quietly in the night, slinking like oil spilled over water. They hadn’t rested in so long, had been convinced they were finally _safe_ , but like wolves, the horde were relentless in their hunt. They’d barely had time to grab the essentials before they escaped into the forest, the dogs of hell gnashing at their heels. 

From the corner of his eye he saw the glint of an arrow being notched into a bow, and then the entire world slowed to a crawl as he saw the rider shift his aim from the princess at his side, to the sorceress's back. 

His body was moving before he could consciously make a choice, but really, what choice was there to make? They couldn’t lose Yennefer. 

The pain, strangely enough, was brief. He tried to speak but the arrow lodged in his throat inconveniently prevented the words from coming out. Jaskier felt his body falling to the ground, the sounds of the battle around him going strangely mute. Distantly, he hears someone scream his name.

The taste of copper in his mouth is bitter.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Geralt hears Ciri call Jaskier’s name with desperation, and looks away from the two black-clad soldiers he’s felled, just in time to see Jaskier’s body hit the ground, the shaft of an arrow sticking out from his neck. He races towards the bard and the princess, falling to his knees as he casts aside his swords, reaching up with both hands to try and stem the flow of blood pouring from Jaskier’s throat. 

His mouth opens, but only wet gasps and gurgles emerge, teeth stained red like he’d been sucking on late-summer berries. 

“Yennefer!” Geralt calls frantically, looking towards the sorceress who is clearly weakening, casting spells of flame towards the advancing troops. She doesn’t seem to hear him, putting all her concentration into holding back the monsters at the door. 

Jaskier grabs at Geralt’s hand, his grip weak but sure, and pulls their hands over to rest above his heart. He thumps them to his chest once, twice, looking at Geralt with pleading eyes, and with sudden clarity, Geralt understands the message.

_I love you._

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded, leaning over to press their foreheads together. The blood pumping from the wound in Jaskier’s throat was beginning to slow, the raging rivers of red spilling from between his fingers ebbing into a gentler trickle. 

Geralt pulled back to look Jaskier in the eyes, and saw the moment his bard left him. The grip on his hand went slack, and the life, _the light_ , faded from his eyes. 

Jaskier was gone, and Geralt.

He sees himself reaching for the two swords he’d discarded to the ground. He feels his body rise to its knees and turn towards what remains of the army. 

He doesn’t remember what happens next.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Geralt. _Geralt_. Geralt, I need you to hear me. Come back. We need to go.”

A voice penetrates the red fog in his mind, and Geralt feels the moment he returns to awareness like a punch to the sternum. Yennefer is kneeling beside him, hand on his forehead, looking as if she’s ready to fall into unconsciousness at any moment. He looks down at himself, the cooling body clutched tightly in his arms, the stain of blood coating him from head to toe. There was no way to know how much of it was Jaskier’s, and how much was the forces Nilfgaard had sent after them. It seemed odd, in retrospect. Jaskier was larger than life in so many ways, and his blood ran as red as anyone else's. 

Yennefer is looking at him now with a mixture of sadness and pity, and she reaches out to close Jaskier’s unseeing eyes with gentle hands. “There’s no telling how far behind us the rest of the army is. I’m sorry about Jaskier, I truly am, but we need to keep moving.”

He opens his mouth to speak but only a croak comes out. Geralt swallows, licks his lips, and tries again. “Branches. Please. I’m - I can’t leave him like this. The scavengers can’t have him, Yenn.” He presses his face into her shoulder. “Please.”

She sighs and nods, hesitantly rising to her feet, grabbing Ciri’s hand and pulling her over to the underbrush. Together, the two of them gather a pile of dried sticks and branches. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. 

Geralt carefully picks up Jaskier’s body and moves him to the makeshift pyre. He lays him down gently, brushing his hair back over his forehead in the windswept style he usually favors. Geralt picks up his hands and one by one, removes the rings. The silver band he’d found at a stall in Lyria and had haggled down to a song, the gold one inlay with rubies he swore he’d been gifted by a very pleased foreign prince, and the signet ring he’d had on his left middle finger for as long as Geralt had known him, the points of the small crown topped with black stones that never seemed to stop gleaming, no matter how dirty his hands became. 

He pocketed the silver and the gold, and strung the crown ring onto the chain around his neck, nestled safely behind his medallion. 

Geralt grabbed at Jaskier’s hand one last time and lifted the knuckles to his mouth, pressing the only kisses he’d ever get to give to each of his fingers. 

He stood and walked over to where Yennefer and Ciri were waiting. He pulled the princess into his arms and she pressed her sobs into his chest. With a final glance at his friend, Geralt sketched the sign for _Igni_ into the air behind her back, putting every ounce of remaining strength he had into the blast, and what was once Jaskier was immediately engulfed in flame. 

_Goodbye_ , he thinks. _I love you._

  
  
  
  
  
  


None of them noticed the white raven high in the trees. It watches as they walk away from the remains of the pyre, before taking flight and disappearing into the sky. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> sorry


End file.
